


Who's the First Teacher?

by RainyMeadows



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Brotherhood, Brothers, Comedy, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Gen, Layton Kyouju | Professor Layton Spoilers, Sibling bickering, inspired by Abbott and Costello
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:02:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25505635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainyMeadows/pseuds/RainyMeadows
Summary: Professor Hershel Layton and his brother have been invited to give a talk at a local school, but there are certain matters Des needs to be informed of before they can proceed. Loosely tied to The Families of Jean Descole.
Relationships: Jean Descole & Hershel Layton
Comments: 16
Kudos: 43





	Who's the First Teacher?

“You wanted to speak with me, Hershel?” Des finished tying off his braid as he entered the kitchen.

“Ah, yes.” Hershel set his teacup down and picked up the small manila file that had been laid beside his saucer. “There are certain things you need to understand before we head off to this school.”

“What things?” Des sat across from him at the kitchen island. “What are you talking about?”

Hershel flipped the folder open.

“As you should know by now,” he said, “the school’s classrooms are numbered. I’m sure you can understand the system. The students may start the day in room 1, but will move to room 5 for a different subject and maybe to room 3 after that-”

“Yes, yes, I get it,” said Des. “Will you get to the point already?”

After a brief glance of annoyance, Hershel looked back down at the folder.

“What you need to understand before we go,” he said, “is that the teachers at the school we’ll be giving a talk at tend to give each other strange nicknames to liven up an otherwise dreary campus. Pet names, if you like.”

Des cradled his chin in thought.

“I see,” he responded. “So if I’m to win these teacher’s trust-”

“-you need to know the nicknames, yes,” said Hershel.

“Well then,” said Des, “you had better tell me what they are.”

Hershel shuffled on his chair and crossed his legs.

“Of course,” he said with a smile. “I’ll go by room order as we enter the main building. Who’s in first, What’s in second, I Don’t Know is in third-”

“What?” Des frowned. “But that’s what I asked you to tell me!”

Hershel took a moment to raise an eyebrow at him in confusion.

“…as I was saying,” he said, returning to his folder, “Who’s in first, What’s in second and I Don’t Know’s in third.”

Des blinked.

“You’re the one who organised this little lecture, aren’t you?” he asked.

“Yes,” Hershel replied with a puzzled frown.

“And you’re the liaison between this school and Gressenheller University?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

Des impatiently tapped his finger on the kitchen counter.

“So why don’t you know these nicknames you were telling me about?” he demanded.

Hershel just kept frowning.

“I thought I made it perfectly clear that I do,” he said.

“Well then,” said Des, “who’s in the first classroom?”

“Yes.”

Des felt heat rising to his cheeks.

“I mean the man’s name!” he tried not to shout.

“Who,” was Hershel’s simple reply.

“The man in the first classroom!”

“Who.”

“The first teacher!”

“ _Who._ ”

“The first bloody teacher-” Des slammed his fist on the counter. “-in the first bloody classroom!”

“Yes,” Hershel said calmly, “Who is in the first classroom.”

“I’m asking YOU who’s in the first classroom!” Des shouted.

Hershel just eyed him in curiosity.

“That’s the man’s name,” he said flatly.

“That’s _whose_ name?” Des snarled.

“Yes, exactly,” said Hershel.

“Well then, tell me!”

“That’s it.”

“That’s _who?!_ ”

“Yes.”

Des’ eye twitched.

He thrust himself up from his chair and paced around the kitchen, smoothing his hands over his hair and trying his hardest to calm his nerves.

“L-look,” he stammered, reminding himself that it was far too early the morning to get so worked up, “is there a teacher in the first classroom?”

“Yes, of course,” Hershel replied.

“Who’s teaching the first class?”

“That’s correct.”

“When the staff get their paycheque every month, who gets the money?”

“Every last penny.”

An animalistic growl rumbled in the back of Des’ throat.

“All I’m trying to find out is the man’s name in the first classroom!” he pointed out.

“Who,” Hershel responded.

“The man that receives…”

“That’s it.”

“Who gets the money…”

“He does, every pound. Sometimes his wife goes in to receive it.”

“Whose wife?!”

“Yes.”

He just kept sitting there with that pleasant little smirk like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Des’ eye twitched again. If his brother didn’t stop this nonsense soon, he was going to have to whip the mask and cloak back out.

“Is there a problem with that?” Hershel asked patiently.

Des buried his face in his hands with a sigh.

“Look,” he hissed, slapping them back down on his thighs, “all I want to know is…”

How in the heck was he going to get a straight answer?!

“…when this teacher clocks in and out for the day,” he decided to try, “how does he sign his name?”

“Who,” said Hershel.

“The teacher.”

“Who.”

“How does he sign-”

“That’s how he signs it.”

“Who?!”

“Yes.”

Des leaned on the counter and stomped his foot. His face was on fire by now.

“All I’m trying to find out,” he snarled, “is what the man’s name is who teaches in the first classroom.”

“Oh, no,” said Hershel. “What is in the second classroom.”

“I’m not asking you who’s in the second!”

“Who’s in the first.”

“One damn classroom at a time!”

“Well, don’t change the teachers around.”

“I’m not changing anybody!”

“Look, try to calm down, Des. Would you like a cup of tea?”

“I’m only asking you who’s the man in the first classroom!”

“That’s right.”

Des screamed from somewhere in the back of his throat. His fingers curled into fists on the countertop.

What the hell had gotten into Hershel today? Why in the world did he suddenly decide to become so ridiculously obtuse?! Had somebody sneaked into the house during the night and battered him around the head?

It was the only explanation Des could think of that made any lick of sense.

He took a deep breath. Whatever was going on, he couldn’t let himself get too riled up.

“Look,” he sighed, “what is the name of the man in the first classroom?”

“No,” said Hershel, “What is in the second.”

“I’m not asking you who’s in the second!”

“Who’s in first.”

“I don’t know!”

“He’s in the third,” said Hershel. “We’re not talking about him.”

“How did we get to the third classroom?!” Des demanded.

“You mentioned his name,” Hershel pointed out.

“B-but if…” Des stammered, “but if I mentioned the _third_ teacher’s name, who did I say was teaching in the third?”

“No,” said Hershel, “who’s in the first.”

“What’s in first?”

“What’s in second.”

“I don’t know!”

“He’s in the third.”

“There I go, back on third again!”

Des massaged his head. Any more of this and he was going to find himself in dire need of some ibuprofen. What the hell was going on right now?!

Okay, so he couldn’t find out who the first teacher was. Maybe he could try working out the other teacher’s identities instead. Treat it like a puzzle. Hershel liked puzzles, after all.

“How about,” he sighed, “we just stay in the first classroom and don’t move away from it.”

“Very well,” said Hershel, turning back to his folder. “What would you like me to tell you?”

Des took a deep breath.

“Who’s in the third classroom?” he asked.

Hershel frowned.

“Why do you insist on placing Who in the third class?” he asked.

“W-what am I putting in the third?!”

“No, What is in the second.”

“We wouldn’t see _who_ in the second?”

“Who is in the first.”

“I don’t know!”

“Des, he’s in the _third_ classroom!”

Des fell to his knees and slammed his forehead on the kitchen counter.

This was a joke. This _had_ to be a joke. Either that or a bad dream. It just was _not_ possible that he and Hershel could actually be having this conversation right now.

Change topics. That would be a good idea. Ask about one of the other staff members in the school. Surely he could learn at least one of _their_ names…

…right?

“Look,” he sighed, “is there some kind of Special Ed teacher at this school?”

“Yes, of course,” Hershel replied. “This is, after all, a modern establishment.”

“And what’s _his_ name?”

“Why.”

Des’ eye twitched again.

“I thought it would be important to know!” he snapped.

“It is,” said Hershel, “and that’s why I thought it would be important to tell you.”

“Then tell me who the Special Ed teacher is!”

“Who’s in the first classroom.”

“I’m not- _stay with Special Ed!_ ” Des all but screamed. “I want to know what the name of the Special Ed teacher is!”

“No,” said Hershel, “What’s in the second classroom.”

“I’m not asking you who’s in the second!”

“Who’s in the first.”

“I don’t know!”

“Again, _third_ class!”

Des pressed his fingers into his hair with a groan and struggled back to his feet.

Now he really _did_ need some ibuprofen.

“Th-the Special Ed teacher’s name?!” he demanded.

“Why,” Hershel responded.

“Because!” Des snapped.

“Oh, he’s the science teacher,” said Hershel.

Des’ fingers curled in his hair, pulling strands loose from his braid. It took all his self-control to not grind his teeth to sawdust.

Someone else. He could ask about _someone else._ Even if it took him a million years, he HAD to find out this blessed faculty’s names!

“Is there…” He snapped his fingers as he tried to think of who else he could ask about. “Is there a headteacher at this school? There has to be, hasn’t there?”

“Well, of course,” said Hershel. “It wouldn’t be much of a school without one.”

“And what’s this headteacher’s name?”

“Tomorrow.”

Des held back the urge to punch something. Thank goodness the kids were all at their own schools and didn’t have to witness this insanity.

“You don’t want to tell me today?!” he shouted.

“I’m telling you now,” said Hershel.

“Then go ahead!”

“Tomorrow.”

“What time?!”

“What time what?”

“What time tomorrow do you plan to tell me who the headteacher is?!”

Hershel sighed.

“I told you,” he said, “ _Who_ is the first classroom’s teacher.”

“ _I’ll destroy your bloody office if you say that again!_ ” Des screamed. “I want to know what the HEADTEACHER’S name is!”

“What’s in the second classroom.”

“I don’t know!”

“Again, _third class!_ ”

Des paced rapidly around the kitchen in front of his brother. Any more of this and he was going to wear a rut into the linoleum.

Someone else. Ask about _someone else._

“Is there a vice-headmaster?” he asked.

“Again, of course,” said Hershel.

“And what’s the vice’s name?”

“Today.”

Des gritted his teeth again.

This _was_ a joke, wasn’t it?

“Today,” he said, “and tomorrow’s their boss.”

“Now you’re getting it!” Hershel said cheerfully.

“So we just have a couple of days in the faculty?!”

Des resisted the temptation to slam his face in the countertop again.

“So let’s say I’m a teacher at this school,” he said, constructing a hypothetical situation in his mind.

Hershel eyed him curiously.

“Go on,” he prompted.

“So Tomorrow might brew me some coffee in the staff room and another teacher comes in,” Des ranted. “Now the other teacher gets some coffee. The teacher from the first classroom. Me being a gentleman, I offer him some biscuits with his coffee. So I pick up the biscuit tin and offer it to _who?!_ ”

Hershel smiled again.

“That’s the first thing you’ve said that makes any sense,” he said happily.

“I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT I’M _TALKING_ ABOUT!”

Des slumped back down in his chair and slumped onto the countertop. He thumped his forehead on the surface as though that would somehow bring this ridiculous situation to some semblance of sense.

He took a deep breath. He couldn’t let his brother get to him. Couldn’t let him think he’d won. Not even for a moment.

“Listen, Des,” said Hershel. “It really isn’t as complicated as you seem to think.”

Des straightened up, eyes closed, massaging his temples.

“…so…” he sighed, “I would be offering the biscuits to the teacher in the first classroom.”

“Yes,” said Hershel.

“Now _who_ takes a biscuit?”

“Naturally!”

Des opened his eyes to glare at Hershel’s pleasant smile.

“Look,” he said, “if I offer the biscuits, someone’s got to take one. Now who has one?”

“Naturally,” Hershel replied.

“Who?”

“Naturally!”

Was this it? Was he _finally_ getting a straight answer?!

“Naturally?” Des asked for clarification.

“Naturally,” said Hershel.

“So I’d pick up the tin,” said Des, “and I offer it to Naturally?”

“No,” Hershel said, “you offer it to Who.”

“Naturally!”

“That’s different.”

“That’s what I said!”

“You’re not saying-”

“I offer the biscuits to Naturally!”

“You offer them to _Who._ ”

“Naturally!”

“That’s it.”

“That’s what I said!”

“You ask me,” said Hershel.

“I offer the biscuits to _who?!_ ” Des demanded.

“Naturally!”

“Now you ask me!”

Hershel raised an eyebrow again.

“You offer the biscuits to Who?” he asked.

“Naturally!” Des spluttered.

“That’s right,” said Hershel.

“Same as you!” Des’ tether officially ran out and he leapt up to pace again as he ranted. “Same as YOU! I offer the biscuits to Who! Whoever it is takes a biscuit and passes the coffee to the second teacher! Who takes the coffee and gives it to What! What then passes it to I Don’t Know! I Don’t Know offers biscuits to Tomorrow! Everybody gets a biscuit! Another teacher comes in and restocks the sugar bowl for Because! Why? I don’t know! He’s in the third classroom and I DON’T GIVE A DAMN!”

Hershel winced at the volume.

“I beg your pardon?!” he demanded.

Des snarled.

“I said I don’t give a damn!” he snapped.

“Oh!” Hershel said cheerfully. “He’s the janitor.”

Des slammed his forehead on the countertop again and screamed through gritted teeth.

He snatched the folder out of his brother’s hands and stared into it.

And stared.

And stared.

And stared some more.

“This…”

He slammed it down on the island.

“This bloody file is _empty!_ ”

Hershel just kept smiling.

“That it is, dear brother of mine,” he said. “That it is.”

Des’ jaw fell slack. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the empty file.

“We never got invited to any school in the first place, did we?!”

Hershel took another long, calm sip of his tea.

“Des,” he said, “consider this payback for that ‘eternal life game’ rubbish.”


End file.
